


I'm yours right now

by blackkat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballroom Dancing, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, and past Kakashi/Zabuza, mentions of Kakashi/Obito
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 18:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “You brought me flowers,” Zabuza says, perfectly flat.Kisame grins at him, all teeth above the bouquet of hollyhocks. “Figured it was appropriate, since I’ll be leading,” he says cheerfully.





	I'm yours right now

“You brought me flowers,” Zabuza says, perfectly flat.

Kisame grins at him, all teeth above the bouquet of hollyhocks. “Figured it was appropriate, since I’ll be leading,” he says cheerfully.

Zabuza went to the same school Kisame did; he knows precisely what hollyhocks are supposed to mean. “Ambition, huh?” he asks dryly, taking the flowers and setting them on the table. “You’d better be implying you finally found the ambition not to trip over your own feet when we go for the counter promenade runs.”

With a chuckle, Kisame straightens to his full height, looking Zabuza over, and that unwavering grin is a threat. “You’re the one who tripped me in front of the judges last year,” he points out.

Zabuza will never, ever admit that that was an accident, and Kisame probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. After all, he wasn’t the one dancing with what turned out to be a fractured ankle. He glares at Kisame, folding his arms over his chest, and demands, “Did you actually get the suits, or were you so distracted by picking out the pettiest flowers you could that you forgot to go to the dry cleaner’s?”

“I got them,” Kisame huffs, looking insulted, and leans out the door to grab two garment bags. “If we get there early, we can practice that develope you keep mistiming.”

“ _My_ timing is fine, you're the one who can't follow the music,” Zabuza retorts, but he takes the bag and checks that his suit is still in one piece. It seems to be, and he lets himself feel a flicker of relief as he pulls it out.

“Where’s your kid?” Kisame asks, glancing around the hotel room like he thinks Haku is going to pop out from under the bed at any moment.

Zabuza grunts. “He made a friend. Local. They went to the botanic garden.” Seeing Kisame's brows rise, he rolls his eyes. “Haku likes plants, and so does this kid, apparently. He’ll be fine.”

“You're definitely not a helicopter parent, are you?” Kisame asks with a laugh, but he catches Zabuza’s wrist when he starts to head towards the bathroom. It makes Zabuza twitch, just a little, and when he turns to give Kisame a look, Kisame just stares back, expression perfectly serious. “We’re going to win this one,” he says, like it’s fact.

“Like fuck I’d lose to Hatake and Uchiha, _again_ ,” Zabuza retorts, and pulls free of Kisame's strong grip. The points where his fingers pressed into Zabuza’s skin are hot, and Zabuza is almost uncomfortably aware of the imprint of his hand, even though the hold wasn’t anywhere near enough to bruise.

Kisame chuckles, but it’s not a happy sound. “You had that thing with Hatake,” he says, assessing, even though his smile hasn’t wavered.

“And now I'm dancing with you.” Zabuza turns to get his bag, dropping his suit on a hook. The itch under his skin suddenly too much to deal with. Kisame is a fucking _idiot_. “Come on, let’s go. I want to work on that last sequence.”

“Is this about the lift again?” Kisame wants to know, but he hangs up his own suit, picks up the bag he left in the hall as Zabuza grabs his keys and then heads for the courtyard at the end of the hall. “I'm not going to drop you.”

“I'm not worried about that,” Zabuza retorts, and checks his watch. They’ve got a solid three hours before they even have to think about getting to the competition. That’s plenty of time to practice and then get dressed. “It’s that fucking canter grapevine, it’s _shitty_.”

Kisame chuckles, catching the door before it can fall closed behind Zabuza. The courtyard is mostly empty, with a stretch of open grass that slopes off towards the dunes below, and at midday on a Thursday there aren’t nearly as many assholes loitering as there could be. Zabuza kicks off his shoes at the edge of the grass as Kisame pulls out his phone, and a moment later the opening beats of _I Put a Spell On You_ fill the air.

“You know,” Kisame says lightly, even as Zabuza steps into his hold, “I heard Hatake was looking for a partner earlier this year.”

Zabuza rolls his eyes, and the opening steps of a left turn are simple enough that he hardly has to think about them. Takes the forward change step, and says, “Yeah, but like fuck I was going to butt in on whatever dramatic destiny shit he has going with Uchiha. Kakashi’s a good dancer with other people, but he’s better with Uchiha.”

He’s not thinking about the breadth of Kisame's shoulders, or the grip of his hands. They’ve been dancing this exact sequence for months now, and the novelty should have worn off. This is _going_ to go better than last year’s gold, Zabuza is absolutely certain, and obsessing over the dancer who helped inspire him to take up the sport like a preteen girl isn't going to help them get first place. _Especially_ with Kakashi and Obito against them.

Kisame braces him through the develope and the three-step turn, but the slide of his hand is too slow, a beat behind where it should be, and Zabuza makes an annoyed sound, breaking away. “Again,” he says. “Do we really need to work on _hand placement_ three hours before the competition?”

Kisame flushes faintly, giving a sheepish chuckle, and settles back into the opening stance, catching Zabuza’s hands as he steps in. This time, the slide of his fingers down Zabuza’s bicep is firmer, very nearly makes Zabuza’s breath catch. Three steps, shifting into the canter, and Kisame's hand drops to his waist, curls there, and—

“Timing,” Kisame says, and his voice is a little rougher than it should be. “Let’s start over.”

Zabuza’s fault, and he grits his teeth, nods shortly. Left turn, change step, and he _knows_ this won't be like last year, won't still be the raw, bitter ache of Kakashi leaving the sport for a season to chase down his ex-boyfriend and convince him to dance again. Won't be a desperate need to impress Kisame that fails miserably, because they know how to move together now. Kisame's been dancing longer, but fuck, Zabuza’s put _everything_ into getting here. He’s not going to stop now, even if he rebreaks his ankle somehow.

Kisame's hand frames his ribs, pulls him back into the final turn as they twist through the movement, and it almost makes Zabuza falter, almost makes him hesitate the way it always does. Practice keeps him moving, keeps him turning back into Kisame's hold, and he pauses there, trying to think of a flaw in the sequence, but—

“That was good,” Kisame says cheerfully, and his hand slips down Zabuza’s arm, touches his waist again even though that’s not the next part of the movement. He’s watching Zabuza thoughtfully, and there's an expression on his face behind the consideration that Zabuza can't read. When he gives Kisame a questioning look, Kisame huffs out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck, and says, “We’re going to win.”

“Yeah,” Zabuza agrees dryly. “That’s the point of this, isn't it? Have to keep making gold or we’ll get stuck—”

“Yeah,” Kisame interrupts, and his eyes are sharp as he takes a step forward, even closer than when they’re dancing, and reaches up. Strong fingers brush a lock of Zabuza’s hair back, and he repeats, “ _We’re_ going to win.”

A part of Zabuza wants to pretend he doesn’t understand, barge forward and right through the heat from Kisame's fingers, the way he has been since Kisame turned up at one of his practices and ran him into the ground. He’d thought that Kisame was disappointed, or disliked his performance, but then a week later he’d turned up again and asked Zabuza to compete with him.

Zabuza still remembers the feeling at that moment, the burn straight through him that seared shut the ache of Kakashi leaving with no warning, right before the start of the season. Like what he feels now, almost, as Kisame's hand slides up his side, pressure and heat and _touch_ , and he closes his eyes, laughs at himself because _he’s_ the idiot here, not Kisame.

“Fuck,” he says. “Yeah, we’re going to win.”

The hand at his temple slides back into his hair, curls. “First place,” Kisame says, almost a tease, and when Zabuza glances up at him that strange look has deepened, spread. He’s smiling, but it’s _hot_ , and his eyes are on Zabuza’s lips.

Zabuza breathes in, tries to think. Laughs again, even as he presses into Kisame, feels one arm slide around his back. “I've heard that winning first is a good excuse for victory sex,” he says, and gets to watch Kisame's dark skin flush, his eyes widen. It’s fucking _beautiful._

“I think that sounds like a good incentive,” Kisame agrees, just a little hoarse, and strokes Zabuza’s temple with his thumb. Zabuza leans into the touch a little, lets himself grin, because his heart is beating a hell of a lot faster than it should be and he almost feels _giddy_. He really is turning into a preteen girl.

“What’s the incentive for getting a sequence perfect?” he asks, and when the flush spreads up across the bridge of Kisame's nose he can't resist anymore. “How about a kiss?”

Kisame laughs, hauls him up and takes two spinning steps even as the music starts over again. He leans down as Zabuza’s feet touch the grass again, and his mouth is warm and devouring. Zabuza would almost call it desperate, except that there’s no damn way Kisame could be desperate for _him_.

Except that Kisame's hands are on his waist, clutching him close, and he kisses like he never, ever wants to come up for air. Maybe, Zabuza thinks, dazed, hot right down to his bones as he loops his arms around Kisame's neck. _Maybe_ , and it’s the best word he’s ever heard.

“First place is ours,” Kisame says, right against his cheek, and twists. Zabuza laughs as he recognizes the movement, and slides into the right turn, takes two quick, spinning steps. Kisame's hands catch him, and he lifts Zabuza easily, spins them through the pattern of steps and then back to the ground with perfect timing, and Zabuza doesn’t hesitate for a moment to drag him down into another hungry kiss.

“Positive reinforcement,” he breathes into Kisame's mouth, and then steals the laugh from his lips as he kisses him again.


End file.
